Page 16

In truth, most of the Highlanders who had gone on Crusade had returned. Yet James had remained.

Or so the family believed.

The sky rumbled with thunder and Malcolm felt the first fat, cold raindrop land upon his head. ’Twas the final insult. He was not about to become drenched in a downpour while standing like a beggar in the Armstrong bailey. Nor would he allow his men to be treated so rudely.

Nostrils flaring, he strode uninvited to the closed door of the great hall and flung it open. If the Armstrongs refused to show good manners, then why should he?

His sudden appearance startled the few occupants of the great hall. A maid shrieked and scurried behind a trestle table, another dropped the basket of bread she held. He saw two men reach for their swords, but they stopped before drawing them when the order to stand down was shouted by a tall, brawny fellow who Malcolm assumed was the captain of the guard.

Malcolm’s lips twitched into a grimace as he slowly moved his hand away from the hilt of his own sword. This was hardly the welcome of an expected guest.

What the devil is going on?

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder to verify that his men stood behind him. Then keeping his expression blank, he cautiously advanced toward the trio standing near the fireplace. He recognized the laird and his wife and assumed the woman at their side was the infamous Lady Davina.

Laird Armstrong was short, stocky, and red-faced, his eyes forming into beady slits as he scrutinized Malcolm. Lady Armstrong was a bit more circumspect than her husband, though he felt the intensity of her wary gaze just as keenly. She, too, was round in shape, with a beak-nosed face and a suspicious demeanor.

No matter. He was not here to impress either of them. He was here at his mother’s request, to escort Lady Davina safely to their home.

“Laird Armstrong. Lady Isobel. I am Sir Malcolm McKenna.” He bowed respectfully before turning his eyes sharply toward the young woman who stood beside them. “Lady Davina?”

“Sir Malcolm.” She dipped a hasty curtsy. “Welcome to Armstrong Castle.”

The words sounded stiff and rehearsed, but he was distracted from the message by the sweet, lyrical sound of her voice. One might describe it as angelic, but for the husky edge that instantly stirred a man’s senses. Intrigued, Malcolm’s eyes swept over her, taking her measure.

She was not a raving beauty—he had certainly seen prettier women. And females with a more buxom, enticing figure. Yet there was much to admire. Her features were refined, her skin flawless, her liquid brown eyes soulful. Most would call her attractive, yet there was something about her, something undefinable, that had the power to draw his attention, almost against his will.

Laird Armstrong cleared his throat. “Forgive our poor greeting, Sir Malcolm. We were only just made aware of Davina’s plans and were startled by yer arrival.”

Reluctantly, Malcolm tore his gaze away from the mysterious Davina. “I had wondered if there was a problem. But I assure ye that all is in order. My mother eagerly awaits Lady Davina’s arrival.”

“Well, sir, we have several things that must be settled before we allow ye to take our Davina away,” Lady Isobel bristled.

“Aye,” Laird Armstrong seconded.

Malcolm glared at the pair in puzzled annoyance.Take Davina away?He was not some marauder who had come to steal their treasurer. He was here to provide an escort. Nothing more.

“I shall make every accommodation to ensure that Lady Davina travels in comfort and safety,” Malcolm said with a winning smile. “Or else I shall have to answer to my good lady mother. I confess I’d rather face an army of English curs than defend myself against her wrath.”

Malcolm’s attempt to lighten the mood failed utterly. Lady Isobel made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat, while a shadow crossed over her husband’s face. Malcolm glanced at Lady Davina. Her head was bowed in supplication, as though she dared not look at him.

His confusion, along with his irritation, increased. For some reason the Armstrongs were not at all pleased with this arrangement, and for the life of him, Malcolm could not fathom why.

Taking a deep breath, he dug his heels into the wooden floor planks. His jest about pleasing his mother had been more than just an attempt at humor, for it held several grains of truth. Aye, his mother would indeed be sorely disappointed in him if he failed at this task.

McKenna men did not fail their women. His father had taught him that important lesson. Even if he had to resort to kidnapping the lass, he would be returning to McKenna Castle with his mother’s holiday guest in tow.

As he conversed—or rather sparred—with her aunt and uncle, Davina’s downcast eyes remained glued to Malcolm McKenna. Her hidden gaze traveled the length of him, hungry to see a resemblance between Malcolm and his brother, but there was little of James to be found in the elder McKenna. Malcolm was taller, his hair darker in color, his eyes blue and intense.

His hair was windswept and wild, falling to the top of his shoulders. His features were uncommonly handsome, bold and striking. Square jaw, straight nose, broad brow. Fine lines creased the corners of his eyes, and a shadow of a beard shaded his cheeks.

His fur-trimmed surcoat and brais were mud-stained from travel, the leather boots that hugged his muscled calves dusty. Yet their quality and cost was unmistakable.

He was everything a lass could want. Strong, handsome, beguiling. Yet all Davina could think about was turning on her heel, running to her chamber, and bolting the door behind her.

Never in her wildest dreams had she considered that Lady Aileen would send her eldest son, heir of the clan, as her escort. She had expected a much older, seasoned retainer would be sent to lead her escort. Not a young, virile warrior of wealth and privilege.

It was a circumstance that both assured and terrified her in equal measure.